Only the Faithful Endure
by Lorelai's Asleep
Summary: The path from friends to lovers is not an easy one, especially for our heroes. Disclaimer: Not mine.


ONLY THE FAITHFUL ENDURE by Blackwood

At noon, the snow turned to mist and drizzle. At dusk, it stopped and temperatures plummeted. Now, moonlight glistens off icy surfaces while icicles dangle from the eaves, deadly and beautiful. The calendar may say it's the first day of Spring, but winter's grip is fierce and unrelenting in the northwoods of Boundary County, Idaho.

Standing beside the window, Scully watches an irregular path of moisture zigzag down the pane until it melds with a second larger track, gathering speed and strength along the way until it splits again, scarring the frosty glass in rivulets. She understands the necessity of isolation, but she yearns for familiar faces. Her breath fogs the glass and with a single finger, she reaches out and traces two hearts, writing the names "Will" and "Emily" in the open spaces.

She knows her son's caretakers are good people who will give him what he needs. She conjures his memory, but all she can recall is the smallness of his body against her shoulder and the rasp of  
his cry. Another face comes to mind: that of a little girl with saucer eyes and a sweet smile. She tries to imagine Emily and William together, but the images are coated with rime, like the glass before her.

She's lost much, but not everything. She turns towards the drowsing figure on the battered sofa. Flames flicker in the wood-stove, casting warmth and dancing shadows onto a threadbare braided rug and the back of the man she long ago committed herself to loving. A single kerosene lantern sits on the rustic kitchen table, lighting the remnants of a simple meal. A sharp wind rattles the walls and the figure stirs before settling again.

There hadn't been time to take even a single photo. She regrets that, especially for Mulder. He'd known his son for so short a time before he left to do what they believed was necessary. They live a quiet life now, rarely speaking of the past. Still, there are words that she will never forget. Spread across the years of their life together -- hurting or healing, ripe with blame or blessed with absolution -- words haunt her. Mere words, as Mr. Chung quoted; yet how powerful they could be.

"I look forward to working with you/Oh, isn't it nice to be suddenly so wanted? This work is my life/And it's become mine. I have cancer/I can't accept that. You're making this personal/Because it is personal. You were my constant/And you are mine. It was my last chance/Never give up on a miracle."Her reverie stalls at that particular phrase...

Dr. Parenti's ultimate prognosis seared her with its finality. "I'm very sorry, Dana," he consoled. "There's nothing more I can do. You can adopt, of course. I can make some recommendations."

Slipping on the well-worn mask of implacability, she replied, "Thank you. I'll think about it," but the words rang hollow. She entered her car and placed the key in the ignition. Pulling out her phone, she pressed the memory button for her mother, but disconnected at first ring. Mom would be strong, but bad news could wait. Placing the phone back into her pocket, she started home.

It wasn't until she found herself at a traffic signal, with the Hoover in plain sight, that she realized her lack of attention. Instead of turning homeward, she meandered through the heart of D.C. Driving past monuments that symbolized strength, she felt only frailty. She was barren, unqualified for the most distinct female function. Accomplishments faded in the glaring realization that her body was nothing but a shell that once harbored the potential for new life, but now sheltered naught but her own breath and bone. It should be enough, but it isn't.

With self-pity free-floating, she brooded over the choices that had brought her to this point. Ethan had been her best chance at so-called normal life, but their relationship ended when they both realized that she was still in love with Daniel. He was a drug she just couldn't kick, even in absentia. She tried dating, but it lacked appeal. Intimacy was placed on a back-burner as she told herself that celibacy was doable, maybe even preferred. As for Mulder, of course she loved him. She just wasn't "in love" with him.

It was dark by the time she stood before the entry to her apartment. She squared her shoulders, but they sagged under the weight of the news she was delivering to the man who waited within. She never allowed Mulder to accompany her, though he always suggested it. They'd trodden this path twice before, each time without success. Each time, the sting of failure was soothed by take-out, a video and a reminder that there were still viable ova in storage.

Hope was now replaced by cold reality and an anticipated awkward silence. She readied herself for the former and rehearsed remarks for the latter. Her plan dissolved at the sound of his voice, soft with understanding. "It didn't take, did it?"

"I guess it was too much to hope for." Her lip quivered and her knees felt weak. She wavered for only a second, but he was there, arms supporting her trembling figure. There, in the shelter of his embrace, she shattered. "It was my last chance," she managed to say before falling mute in a flush of grief so keen it stole her breath.

She felt his kiss on her brow. "Never give up on a miracle," he declared, his forehead touching hers.

She reached up and kissed his cheek before embracing him again. She took another full breath, feeling somewhat calmer. "Do you really believe that?"

"I want to believe," he said. No one but a trained observer would have heard the hint of desperation in his voice. Scully pulled back. Intuition was never her strong suit, but she **was** a keen investigator.

"Even now, after everything we've been through, everything we've seen and heard -- how?" At that, he averted his eyes, his thoughts elsewhere.

"Maybe," he said at last, "it's because of what I've seen." He paused. "What I know."

Apprehension chilled her. "What do you mean, what you know? Mulder, is there something else you haven't told me? Something about my ova, or--"

"No," he interrupted, meeting her worried gaze with a small smile. "No. It's gonna be okay," he reassured, giving her a brief hug before releasing her. She remained in place, disturbed by his words. He, on the other hand, was already on the phone. "You want veggies or, uh," he grimaced, "that tofu stuff?"

"You decide," she responded, unmoving. He would tell her what was on his mind when he was ready, wouldn't he? Or, maybe it was just the day's events. She removed her coat, laying it across

the back of a chair. Crossing to the sofa, she sat down with a sigh, circling fingers to her now aching temples. She heard a cabinet door swing open, the click and rattle of a plastic container and the subsequent running of the tap. Coming to stand beside her, Mulder waited until she accepted the proffered pills and washed them down. His silent attentiveness gave comfort.

He moved to the bookshelves then, scanning the contents. "Let's see..." he murmured. "'Breakfast at Tiffany's,' 'Steel Magnolias,' 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame?'" He turned to look at her with arched brows.

"It's a romance, Mulder."

"So is 'Chicken Run,' but I don't want to watch it over and over."

"This is my house, remember?"

"So, 'Die Hard with a Vengeance' isn't kept in a shoe box somewhere for secret thrills?"

"Not unless you put it there."

He gave her a sideways smile and slipped the video into the player. The story began and he returned to his usual short distance from her at the left end of the sofa. His shift in mood seemed genuine and Scully finally relaxed, allowing the meds to take effect. Upon first sight of the hunchback, Mulder jibed, "This guy doesn't stand a chance. You know that."

She finally smiled. For a while they watched in silence, interrupted only by the arrival of dinner and the occasional smart-ass remark. The black and white images flickered on the screen, engaging Scully with its tale of the ancient cathedral and its misunderstood inhabitant who loves the beautiful gypsy girl from afar, uncertain of his worthiness until forced to prove his mettle in the face of her demise. With her face still facing the screen, she says, "I've been selfish."

"It's just ibuprofen and a movie, Scully. No biggie."

Grabbing the remote, she turned the volume down before turning back. "I'm saying I'm sorry."

"For?"

She looked down at her body, hand on her belly. With focus fixed there, she continued, "Mulder, I've been going through these procedures, putting my body through a pharmaceutical marathon, hoping for that miracle you talk about."

"I get that."

She met his gaze. "I know what science says is possible. I believe in its methods. But I was also raised to believe that true faith can move mountains."

"And you no longer believe that?"

"I'm not sure what I believe."

"Chaos is the beginning of Wisdom," he quoted from The Lonely Buddha.

She was surprised he knew the book so well. "You may be right," she admitted.

"I may be crazy," he reminded.

Together, they concluded, "But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for." They chuckled together and she felt somewhat better.

"How's the headache?"

"I'm fine."

"There are other options, y'know. Discoveries are being made every day."

"No, Mulder. This is the end for me. I can't do this again." It wasn't true, but it was accurate. "When I was told there was a chance some of my ova might be viable, I put my faith in science. But each time the procedure failed, I blamed God. I blamed circumstance. I even blamed you." He said nothing, but his gaze was guarded. "You once said that you owed me and part of me believed it. I believed it about this, anyway. You sensed that. You had reservations from the start, yet you still said 'yes.' Why?"

He bit the inside of his mouth and looked pensive. Finally, he said, "My reservations at the time don't matter."

She leaned towards him, keeping his gaze. "I know you signed the donor agreement half-heartedly. It couldn't have been easy giving up your rights as a parent."

"I thought it was what you wanted." His voice held a trace of frustration. "I know how important this baby that might-have-been was to you."

"Mulder, this baby that might-have-been wasn't just mine." She reached for his hand lying on the cushion between them. She gently squeezed it and added, "No matter what the papers said, it  
was ours."

He looked away, mouth pursed. She noted the steady twitch in his jaw. His barely audible "Yeah" spoke volumes.

The truth was out there, wonderful and terrible. When he met her eyes again, she saw the hurt he'd worked to conceal from her earlier. When he wrapped his fingers around her hand to pull her  
closer, she did not resist. Moving into the crook of his encircling arm, she laid her head against his inside shoulder, gaze outward. They held one another in silence, discrete thoughts unified in sorrow.

Her gaze moved randomly until settling on the still-playing film. Esmerelda was bound, being led to a scaffold, condemned for a crime she didn't commit. Quasimodo watched from the bell tower, horrified. Like an optical illusion in flux, the plight of the doomed pair strangely resonated in her mind. Faculties sharpened and she became aware of her hip against his thigh, his arms supporting her, the softness of his sweater against her cheek.

Mulder was no Quasimodo and the chemistry between them had always been present. But that had been the point, right? Sexual intimacy was precisely what Blevins had planned. When Tom Colton tossed the moniker "Mrs. Spooky" her way, Scully knew what people were thinking. She wasn't a prude, but the thought so galled her that she determined never to go down that path. Attractive as Mulder was, there were other men available with less baggage and better prospects.

Instead, a genuine friendship developed where she didn't expect it. Imagine that. Sometimes, she regretted not being able to indulge in the occasional, non-committal booty call, but she knew  
she couldn't deal with the aftermath. As friends, their differences were tolerable. As lovers, it could all implode, her ability to protect the work and the man she'd come to respect, lost.

Besides, true intimacy required honesty and trust, and although she trusted him, she hadn't been honest. He obsessed about truth, yet she kept him in the dark about her deepest feelings.

His reaction at her admission of anger over her infertility was incentive enough to keep the rest of her feelings tucked safely away. But her abductions, her illness, Melissa's death, even the rift with her brother -- she held Mulder responsible to some degree. The waters were just too muddy for her to navigate, so she bottled up her guilt and anger, hoping it would dissipate over time.

Scully wanted to see his face, but it meant leaving his arms. So, instead, she leaned up and kissed his cheek, then beside his mouth. As she pulled away, he turned towards her with intent. There was only a moment of indecision. Then his lips touched hers, soft with promise and warm with emotion.

More than chaste and less than passionate, it was a kiss that eased her pain. Her brain was demanding 'Voulez vous,?' while the unexpected rise of her pulse answered. She could surrender to sensation, but she just wasn't that spontaneous. When she began to pull away, he murmured, "Stay," at her temple. His kisses continued, feather-light and undemanding, across her cheek to the hollow of her neck, kindling a slow burn in its path while on the television screen the hunchback carried his beloved to safety claiming sanctuary and Scully understood, for the first time, how the definition of that word could mean not a structure of stone and glass, but a man of flesh and blood.

It had been a long time since a man had held her this way and she wanted these feelings to go on. She craved the emotional intimacy he provided in her life and knew he felt the same. Yet, crossing the threshold of physical intimacy still frightened her. "Stop," she whispered, regretting the word even as she spoke it.

"Let me..." he murmured and she could almost hear his unspoken 'in' at the end of his supplication.

She shook her head. "We can't do this." She pulled away and rose from the sofa. She crossed to where her coat was, retrieving her phone from her coat pocket. As she dialed, she heard him putting  
on his jacket and the entry door unlock.

"It'll never be right, will it?" The edge of anger was in his voice.

"Dana?" Her mom had picked up.

"Can you hang on a second?" Scully asked her, then turned to find Mulder. Only, he was already gone. "Oh, mom," she sighed into the phone. On screen, the hunchback wept.

So much has happened since. Her memories of joy are scattered, but precious; enough to sustain. She harbors no false expectations of achieving her fondest wish. William is safe with his adoptive family and she will never again risk his well-being.

She turns her head back to look outside again. All but the deepest shadows are softened by moonlight. Her eyes take in the empty dirt road that slides into the trees at the edge of the clearing. It will twist several times before hitting the asphalt that flows down the mountain into Gatts, the small town they call home.

The space beside the road is covered by a mantle of mottled white, muddy patches peeking through a slow thaw. In summer, wildflowers bloom there and they often spread a blanket, lying side by side to gaze at the stars. Sometimes, they make love. She and Mulder make love. No one is more pleased by the fact than she, especially when she considers the source of the shift...

She'd once heard that when one was ready to learn a life lesson, the teacher appeared. Enter Daniel Waterston -- or reenter, to be precise. She never expected to see him again, yet there he was, lying in a hospital bed. Even ill, he was a commanding figure.

His easy intimacies beguiled, even as the revelation of his unannounced proximity for the last ten years burned. No other man but Ahab held such sway over her. Yet before she could explore what it meant, Daniel crashed. Using every ounce of the skills he'd taught her, Scully stabilized his failing body, or so she believed.

She didn't sleep well that night, her mind enveloped in a loop of memory that was singularly hers. Their affair had been clandestine. Daniel was the mentor, she the protege. She told herself that if no one knew, no one would be hurt. He gave her license to explore the limits of her sexuality and she imagined he would change his life for her. When she realized he wouldn't, she ended it, leaving conventional medicine to make a difference with the Bureau. But the past had, at long last, caught up with her and the consequences of her indiscretion flared in the fury of a betrayed daughter's eyes. She needed to, wanted to make amends. But how?

Staring blankly at the computer screen at 2 a.m., she glanced over to the stack of papers she'd received from Colleen Azar. On top lay the photo of the heart chakra crop circle. The image haunted her. She typed the word 'chakra' into her browser and spent the next four hours immersed in the world of alternative medicine. One link led to another. The more she learned, the more questions she had. Finally, as daylight overtook darkness, so fatigue overtook her. She napped on the sofa until ten, then showered and changed. She knew who might have answers.

Stepping across the threshold of the healing center, she felt like a dubious pilgrim. Inside, she discovered an interior space filled with symbolism and beauty. Even the rain falling outside felt tranquil. And, as she listened to Colleen's words, she felt a clearing emerge where there was none before. "Everything happens for a reason," she was told.

Scully sipped her tea. "So, you're saying that there are no coincidences."

"Only the appearance of coincidence. Have you ever noticed that once you begin to dwell on something, things begin to show up in your life to add to the inner dialogue?"

"Like suddenly seeing meaning in things you hadn't before?"

"Exactly."

"I've had experiences like that," Scully responded, remembering the way the pony-tailed woman looked at her after her near-accident with the car.

"We all do. It's evidence."

"Evidence. Of what?"

"Our thoughts manifesting reality."

"You make it sound like we can play God."

"I don't mean to sound flippant, but from a certain perspective, we do." She paused, then asked, "Do you pray?"

Colleen's sincerity disarmed Scully and she paused to consider the question. "Sometimes."

"Some call it wishful thinking, but most religions teach prayer as a spiritual discipline. What's interesting is that most people who pray believe that their intentions are heard by an external being who decides their fate, either objectively or based on some moral principle. Yet, you can also view prayer as a form of focused thought that can influence events or as access to the divine self."

"Are you referring to positive thinking?"

"That's one perspective, but there are others." Colleen set her cup down and walked to one of the bookshelves. Pulling a slim paperback from the case, she held it out.

"What is that?"

"Something you might find useful."

She didn't want to be rude, but all at once, Scully felt threatened by the concepts presented. "Ms. Azar, I just wanted to apologize and to ask a few questions. I'm not looking to be counseled or healed."

"Yet here you are. And please, call me Colleen."

"Colleen...thank you for listening today, but I really should go." Scully set down her own cup and headed towards the door.

"It's often true that what we can see so easily in others, we fail to recognize in ourselves."

Standing at the door, with her back towards the woman, Scully paused. "What are you saying?"

"That you also carry pain and you'd like to be clear of it." Scully sighed aloud, but said nothing. "Your friend in the hospital. Is he the source of it?"

"He's...a part of it."

"There are things unsaid, issues left unresolved."

"Mmm...yes." She felt awkward, found out, glad to be facing away.

Colleen was nonplused. "Relationships are complicated. We get upset with others, with ourselves, when we allow the past to control the present. Thwarted intentions, unfulfilled expectations, even words left unsaid can keep us frozen in place. In fear. We live our lives out of sheer will and lose touch with what we desire." Scully turned at that and looked into the eyes of the healer. Expecting judgment, she found only compassion. "What do you want?" Colleen asked.

It was the second time in as many days that someone had asked Scully the question. "I want--" she began, then paused. Sitting with Daniel, she thought she wanted the life she didn't choose, but now she hesitated. There were many things unsaid between them. Then, there was Maggie...and Mulder. "I thought I knew," she replied, at last.

"And now you're not so sure. That's a good place to start."

Scully wasn't as certain. Colleen walked over and held out the book. Scully took it and glanced at the title, surprised to see it was written by a physician. As Colleen swung open the heavy front door, she tucked it into her inside coat pocket. Sunlight poured onto the porch while a gentle breeze sounded the chimes. Colleen's hand grasped Scully's in parting. "The answers are inside you already. Just look." Then she smiled and closed the door.

The connections were still oblique, but Scully knew she would have no peace until she took responsibility for her role in Daniel's troubled family dynamics. She wasn't in love with him, not any longer; but she needed to apologize for walking out. She purchased flowers at the hospital's gift shop. They were the color of life, a blood offering to atone for her sins. As she walked through the double doors leading to the Cardiac wing, she was confronted by Maggie Waterson.

Maggie's judgments flayed her professionally and personally, killing off the possibility of conciliation. Scully felt hurt, but deserving of the assault. She couldn't see Daniel like this. She took to the streets, her focus cornered by odd bits and pieces whose meaning hovered beyond her ability to integrate. She was a trained investigator, but she was failing at the most important mystery of all -- her life.

When she spotted the pony-tailed woman a second time, she felt compelled to speak with her. Giving chase, she followed the figure through a simple-hewn door that led to a small, well-kept garden. She thought, at first, that it was a residence, but when she tested the inner door, she found it unlocked. Stepping inside, she found herself in the sacred presence of a bodhisattva.

The power of the place was overwhelming and she was vulnerable. In supplication, she surrendered self-sufficiency and simply asked for help. All at once, she was standing at the center of a celestial mandala, arms radiating to infinity. The wheel turned, gaining momentum, images of people and places in her life streaming through her mind until settling, at last, on the form of a prone Daniel, body translucent with light, yet stricken powerless; his heart dark with disease. When he opened vacant  
eyes, she was jarred back into her senses. Only, somehow, they were different, heightened.

Standing there, she could feel a surge of energy filling her body. Beginning with the soles of her feet, heat suffused every molecule of her being until it seemed as if she must be radiating beams of light from every pore, but especially from the top of her head which she imagined must be surrounded by a halo. Scarlet blooms fell to the ground as she lifted her hands towards the golden icon, palms down, fingertips outstretched, watching in wonder as rays of light streamed from them in all directions.

Carried by the vision, she felt the room around her fade away until she was surrounded by space so enormous she could not hold its image. It was vast and comprehensive, beautiful beyond description, and within it was contained all creation -- every molecule of every piece of matter -- organic and inorganic -- every thought, every emotion, every action taken by every creature and object she understood as Real, and more. The past, the present and the future were all contained within the One, just as she was now contained there, blessed to be able to experience this connection, if only once and never again, blessed.

For only a moment, she stepped back in her mind to observe the phenomena she was experiencing and in that moment, the feeling faded, quickly and irrevocably. She felt the ground beneath her feet, solid and unmoving; the air around her warm, scented with spice; the flickering candlelight punctuated by shafts of sunlight falling through the latticed ceiling above. The statue before her was only a man-made object and she was only a human being, wholly back in the tangible world, but never again the same.

She sat in the outer garden for some time, feeling her heartbeat slow and her breathing return to normal. She had tasted the unity among all things and she saw the world and herself throughnew eyes. She knew what she must to do to complete her past with Daniel. But what of her future? What of Mulder? She understood now that in his human-ness, he had acted as he thought best. And what of her own reticence? Well, she was human, too. She remembered the book, then, and pulled it from her pocket. It was penned by a respected M.D. named Dossey, a Western practitionerwho now espoused prayer and intention alongside drugs and surgery. "Healing Words," proclaimed the title. Synchronicity hit home.

Later, watching the energy healer with Daniel, Scully felt like an intern again, eager to help but lacking skill. That could, and would, change. Making peace with Maggie was more difficult, but with Colleen as mediator, they found common ground. Having acted from a place of love, Scully felt her integrity restored, a weight lifted from her psyche. When Maggie left the small conference room they occupied, she turned to Colleen who sat across from her at the round table. "I need your help with  
something else," she said. Colleen waited. "There's someone else in my life with whom I haven't been completely honest," she said.

"Man or woman?"

"Definitely a man," she confirmed, her attitude revealing the nature of her feelings. She smiled, suddenly shy.

"S'ok," Colleen reassured, chin resting on her hand. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," she replied at once, "I do."

"Does he feel the same?"

"I think so."

"Then let that guide you. Forgive yourself, Dana. It's time." A tear slipped down Sculy's cheek. Colleen rose and rounded the table. Scully stood up and faced her as the woman asked, "May I  
work with you?"

"Yes."

"Look into my eyes, then, and stay with me." Colleen placed her left hand on Scully's right shoulder. The other was pressed lightly against Scully's heart. Heat began to emanate from Colleen's hands, both surprising and comforting. The healer sighed and murmured in empathy at the trauma she felt there.

"People never look at each other," she said. "Not really. We see only the superficial or what we expect to see. We forget how to just be with one another." As they stood in quiet, Scully truly perceived the loving soul before her. In return, she felt opened, like a book read cover to cover. Her mind and heart connected and she got very, very clear on what she wanted. Colleen noted the shift and stepped back.

"Thank you," Scully said in gratitude.

"You're welcome," Colleen replied, matter of fact.

"I should pay you something."

Colleen smiled. "I tell you what. Come see me next week. Let me know what you think of the book I loaned you and how things are going for you and that definite man." Without waiting for a response, she added, "I gotta go." Grabbing her handbag from a nearby chair, she slung it over her shoulder and left.

Scully drove home and slept soundly through the night. When she next saw Daniel, his disparagement of the prior day's intervention was typical, but her reaction was not. Saying good-bye willingly, she maintained her poise and walked away, satisfied with her choice. When she saw the pony-tailed figure for the third time, she knew there was a reason. Only, the figure turned out to be a mirage and she was face to face with the person she most wanted to see, after all.

Over cannelloni and a fair amount of frascati, she allowed herself the pleasure of just being with him, without expectations. They talked about work, of course. But instead of leaving it at that or adding a minimal personal update, Scully began to chat. It struck her as odd that for all the time they spent together, she knew so little about the small details of his life, the simple stuff, the good stuff. And suddenly, she just had to know. His delight at her genuine interest was obvious. When she asked if he had photo albums of his family, he squinted his eyes at her. "Okay, who are you? And what have you done with my partner?"

She chortled at that, but insisted just the same. She was meant to find Mulder, just as she did, when she did. Like opening the door to the temple, she didn't know what came next, but was certain that what she needed lay beyond just the same. With him. At his apartment, she found herself noting his furnishings. His mother's crystal and china was stored neatly in the cabinets, while mail and magazines covered the dining table. His desk was a disaster, but the fish tank was immaculate. Since when did he collect Indian artifacts and why on earth did he own a brass kazoo? The possibility of simple human connection with him was dizzying.

The hours passed, but she was wired on possibilities. So they sat and talked. Or rather, she talked and he listened. He was saying something about moments coming together when she finally dozed off. She didn't know how long she napped, but when she opened her eyes, she was covered by a blanket. She liked that he'd put it there. He was still beside her, but slouched into the sofa's corner, his left leg still resting on the table, his right foot planted on the floor. He was wearing wire-frames and reading something by William Burroughs. She liked the specs, hated Burroughs. A song she didn't recognize was playing in the background.

"Hey," she called.

He turned his head and looked at her over his lenses. "Hey, yourself." His eyes revealed his own fatigue and she decided it might be best if they both got some rest before charting unknown waters in relationship.

"What time is it?"

"Clearly past your bedtime."

"And we have work tomorrow. I should go," she said with regret. She pushed aside the blanket and stood with a yawn. Her shoes were by the fish tank and she moved towards them. Mulder shifted  
his extended leg, so both feet were on the floor. As she navigated through the blanket puddled on the floor, he tugged it out of the way. She lost her footing and, in her lassitude, stumbled forward, her knees colliding with his. Her hands flew forward and she toppled towards the coffee table. Anticipating impact on her hip, she relaxed to minimize injury. Instead, she found herself caught and pulled into Mulder, then into the sofa by momentum. One hand hit the leather sofaback. The other? The other landed square in her partner's face, jarring his glasses askew.

"Owww!" he squawked.

"Sorry," she mumbled, squirming to regain balance.

"Hold it," he grimaced, immobilizing her as best he could, "or I'm gonna end up a eunuch." She stopped moving at once, feeling her inside leg exerting uncomfortable pressure against Mulder's most vulnerable assets.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she repeated as he shifted her weight onto his thigh. One of her arms now rested against the back of the sofa, her hand atop his shoulder while the other was splayed on  
his chest. His hands were at her waist, but he wasn't keeping her there. Yet, she lingered.

"S'ok," he groaned, then coughed several times with dramatic effect. "I think I'll live." She cocked her head and watched a slow grin spread across his face. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head, soughed at him, a smile of her own twitching at her cheeks. "Gotcha," he whispered.

She reached up with her free hand and realigned his glasses. "There," she said, then paused to touch her tongue to her lips, on purpose. His pupils dilated ever so slightly and she felt one hand at her waist press closer. The thought of him possessing her triggered a twitch at her core that shivered through her body. The freedom to act was intoxicating.

Seconds slipped by in silence as focus deepened and tension heightened. Finally, she said in as casual a manner as she could muster, "You know, Colleen says that most people never look at one another. Not really."

"I'm looking at you, Scully."

"What do you see?"

"I see...a woman I don't recognize. But I know her."

"Do you like what you see?"

He drew in a long breath at that and released it. He dropped his eyes and turned his face from hers. "Yeah," he finally answered, voice lower than usual. He turned back and there, in the hazel eyes she knew so well, she saw desire.

Time took on a slow, surreal quality she now recognized as critical juncture. It surprised her that she could even think that. She looked into his eyes, as if she could discern the future there, but all she saw was his complete and utter attention on her. Now. 'Be responsible for everything in your life,' she heard a voice say. She took a breath, then lifted her free hand to remove his glasses.

"If you're gonna do that, you better stay close," he said. "I wanna see you -- all of you." She froze, frames in hand a short distance from his face. He took them, then, and set them down, somewhere. His voice softened, "What do you want, Scully? Tell me." But she couldn't speak, could hardly breathe. Then he added, "Show me."

That's when she stopped thinking and simply kissed him. She remembered his mouth from previous kisses, brief as they were, but she wasn't in love with him then. What did she want? She wanted this. She wanted the heat that was pumping through her veins at the taste of him, his mouth soft and pliant to her need. The feel of his tongue sliding against hers sent pleasure rippling throughout her body.

Pressing her hands to him, she claimed advantage. He allowed it for a while, then teased by keeping her at length. She chased his mouth, which eluded her as he kissed her chin, her cheek, the hollow of her neck, until she was beside herself. "Stop!" she finally commanded, pressing at his chest with both hands, frustrated and thoroughly flustered. She was breathless and he was smiling. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

He pressed his teeth to his lower lip and pulled for a moment before releasing it. He looked her square in the eye, completely in control of himself. "Enjoying myself," he chuckled.

"Oh," she said, half-amused and half-annoyed by his attitude. "Is that so?"

"Yup," he replied, "That is so." He looked like the cat that swallowed the canary and she was determined to wipe that oh-so-smug look off his face. She nodded, eyes flaring, color high. "Y'know," he went on, "I always thought you were kinda cute when you were angry, but I think I like it even better when you're angry and aroused. Then again, it might just be the novelty."

Her jaw dropped at that. "I should kick your ass for that," she said. "I can, you know." He was baiting her, for sure, but the tang of her awakening was evident. And if this was his style of foreplay, it was working.

"I know it," he agreed, somewhat sheepishly, his eyes dropping, only to rise in a slow unapologetic scan of her body that made her swallow, a blush rising to her cheeks and elsewhere. When he reached her eyes again, he added, "And I love it."

It was clear, he was hers for the asking. Her face was slightly above his, so she simply dropped forward, mouth slightly open, into his invitation to a kiss. The initial moment was sweet, but quickly evolved into ardor. She moaned as he deepened the pressure, her body melting into his. He moved her onto her back, sliding them forward until she was prone, with him above. They kissed repeatedly, languidly then quickly, leaving her breathless. When his hand cupped her breast, thumb brushing the  
sensitive tip, she gasped at the distinct tactile sensation.

Finally, she pushed at him, creating space. They were both breathing heavily, their stopping a mere respite to regroup. "Promise me you're not leaving tonight," he urged.

Endorphins flooding her brain, she said in a breathy voice, "Okay, here's how it's going to go. I'm going inside, getting undressed and getting under the covers. When you're ready, join me."

Slipping out from beneath him, she stood, pushed her hair behind her ears and walked calmly into his bedroom. Almost immediately, she poked her head back into the living room. Mulder was still sprawled on the sofa, his head propped on his hand, staring at the doorway with a satisfied grin on his face. "By the way," she added in a sultry tone, "I'm requesting that we keep the lights off -- this time."

He was off the sofa and halfway across the room before she could react. With a gasp of surprise, she withdrew, anticipation rising like bubbles off uncorked champagne. There'd be no scripted love scene here. Only him. Only her. Only the night...

She smiles to herself, remembering. His hands never left her, even while he slept. He was passionate and funny and satisfied her completely. God, did he ever. He still did. Padding over to the sofa, she sits on the floor beside her lover. She leans her head against his back and hears his voice, rough with sleep, ask, "You okay?"

"Hmmm."

"That's a definite maybe." He turns over, lifts his arm and scoots back, creating space. She doesn't argue. Their movements cause the old couch to creak with annoyance. When done, her back is nestled against him, her head against his chest, his arm around her. She grows drowsy, the heat from the stove rouging her cheeks. The wind howls and she listens as it wrestles the pines. Inside, the logs crackle and hiss a melody in counterpoint.

"So?" he prompts against her ear. "Wanna mess around?" His breath is warm and his fingers slide beneath the hem of her sweater to circle the skin of her stomach. His touch is inviting and she closes her eyes, savoring the touch.

"I don't think this sofa can stand it," she warns, only half in jest.

"Yeah, but it'll be worth it, won't it?"

"Hmmm. Let me think about it."

"You mean the thought of necking with your husband isn't enough to sacrifice a mere piece of furniture?"

"Not when there isn't a replacement handy."

"You're such a wife."

"That's me."

"In that case, I'll just go back to my nap."

"You must be getting old."

"And what makes you say that?"

"There was a time when you simply couldn't be put off."

"Hey, I cleared a very long driveway today, chopped wood and fixed the carb on the Minicat. I'm tired. Sue me." He sounded gruff, but he wasn't angry.

She twisted around so she could see his face. His eyes were already closed. He had changed; matured, arrogance tempered by dependence on others for their very survival. His beard with dark, but flecked with gray, like the hair at his temples. Life wasn't easy, but the simple life appealed to him. He'd once told her he dreamed of settling down in a small town and here they were, living on the outskirts of no more than a crossroads. They couldn't settle, but they stayed.

The fire suddenly collapses into embers with a shuck and hiss. Moonlight spills through the frosted window panes. Cold seeps through the glass and she feels it across the room. She rises, drawing her cardigan tighter around herself. She moves to the table and lowers the wick on the kerosene lantern.

Returning to her chosen spot by the window, she looks out again at the wintry landscape. Mulder approaches and stands beside her. "Should I wish on a star?" she asks.

"If you can see one, go for it."

"And if I can't?"

"Just pretend you can."

"Does that work?"

"Starlight is powerful stuff. Maybe the walk-ins will hear you."

"Maybe." The walk-ins. Maybe Emily was with them, somehow. She likes the idea.

"What would you wish for?"

"A miracle," she replies knowing he understands which one.

"How many more do you need, Scully?"

"More?" She's taken aback.

"Your cure. Mine. The Consortium destroyed and the vaccine for the black oil distributed worldwide. Those are miracles in my book."

She considers his case. "You're right," she admits. "And I get that it's all for a reason. I do. I just wonder why it has to be so hard sometimes."

He pulls her close and holds her. "I know what you want. I want it, too. And whatever it takes, we'll be a family again -- somehow."

"How do you know?"

"I just believe."

She raises her eyes to his face and reads weariness on his brow. But his eyes are bright and his spirit is as indomitable as ever. "You have such faith."

He gives a small moue. "I call it certainty."

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to."

"You know miracles don't always appear that way when you receive them."

"Like being assigned to work in a basement office?"

"Yeah, something like that," he replies, humored. She drops her eyes and smiles to herself. "Look, all I'm saying is that the world is as dangerous and beautiful a place as it has ever been, but we'll endure. So will humanity. It's a given. Be with it."

She nods and gives a quick sigh. "Ahso," she replies. Standing on tiptoe, she gives him a light kiss on the cheek, allowing his arms to support her. "Thank you," she whispers.

"You call that a thank you?" he questions.

"What do you want, Mulder? Tell me. Show me." The words are familiar and he gets the message from the twinkle in her eyes. He smiles and lifting her from the ground, carries her to bed.

There is nothing more to say.

END


End file.
